


How to Train Your Avenger

by charis2770



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Aftercare, BDSM, Bucky has nightmares and a lot of bad memories, Coping Mechanisms, Dom! Steve, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Headspace, Hurt/Comfort, Loving Sadism, M/M, Master/Pet, Pet Play, Pony Play, Regression as Therapy, Steve is a Good Dom, Sub! Bucky, Their relationship is sexual but this scene isn't, This is one of his ways of coping with them, Whipping, healthy BDSM
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-25
Updated: 2017-09-25
Packaged: 2019-01-05 07:24:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12185559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charis2770/pseuds/charis2770
Summary: Sometimes Bucky has a hard time coping with his nightmares and his memories. He's come a long way, but he still has bad days. BDSM is very much a part of he and Steve's relationship. Sometimes it's for fun, but sometimes it's for something much more important. There is one very particular kind of scene that Bucky asks for when he REALLY needs to get out of his own head. Steve will never let him down.(Charis2770 now officially has an Avengers kinky Ask blog, with all the pairings about whom I've written, plus the majority of the new characters who have been introduced since the first movie was released and I began writing them. Come join us at 1-800-askavengers)





	How to Train Your Avenger

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BrittanyChayanne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrittanyChayanne/gifts).



> This story contains a scene based entirely around pony play. Pet play of many kinds is a part of a lot of people's kink relationships. The reasons they've chosen this particular kind are explained in the story. In it, Bucky truly regresses in his own mind until he honestly doesn't think like a human being anymore. It's something he needs when he feels like his thoughts are getting too harmful or dangerous to himself or the people he cares about. I've done my best to be as true to pony play culture as I can. While I have never been a lengthy participant in this kind of play, I had a dear friend at one point who lived as a horse as often as he could. He taught me a lot, so my ability to write this is thanks to a pony named Trigger. Wherever he is now, I hope he's doing well.
> 
> This story is a commission, and not a part of my regular Avengers series, although I do ship Steve with Bucky (and a couple of other people, one temporary to help him learn that even with his enhanced strength, he can still participate safely in BDSM and another as permanent as Bucky), but that will all be revealed in the future once I'm able to begin writing that particular story arc!

Steve sees it coming. Bucky’s nightmares have been more frequent the past few days, and he’s been acting a little withdrawn. He doesn’t push though, knowing that doing so will likely only make the man withdraw further and push things off longer than is healthy. So he waits, even though he hates seeing his lover hurting. And finally on the fifth day, Bucky comes to him a couple of hours after dinner, hovering for several long moments in the doorway of the living room where Steve’s reading one of the many books on his (very long) list of “must read” publications of the mid-20th century forwards. Finally Steve hears him sigh, then he trudges over to Steve’s chair and sits down on the soft carpet at his feet. His head hits his lover’s thigh heavily. Steve sets down the book instantly and cards his fingers through Bucky’s shoulder-length hair.

 

“It’s time,” Bucky finally says softly. Steve’s fingers still for a moment, then resume their soothing movement.

 

“You’re sure?” he asks. He always asks. Bucky nods.

 

Their relationship employs BDSM in three very distinct ways. Sometimes it’s just for fun, and there is always sex afterwards. Sometimes it’s because one of them needs to get something out, and the other gives that to them unreservedly (often there is still sex, though not always). And then there is the third type. It doesn’t happen often, and only when Bucky’s been regressing back in his mind to the person he’d been, the things he’d done as Hydra’s tool. Times when he needs to be taken so far outside of his own head that he won’t think at all, and for that to happen, Bucky can’t be anything of who he is. Getting him to be able to admit this need has taken a long time, and a lot of fights, and an acute amount of embarrassment. 

 

Those days are past them, and Steve knows exactly what Bucky means, and exactly what he need. He starts to rise to his feet, but Bucky’s sudden, tight grip on his wrist stops him.

 

“I...I don’t know if I can be. Can be...I’ll  _ try _ …” Steve smiles down at the back of his fumbling lover’s head, trying not to really think about how sort of cute it is the way Buck’s ears turn red when he’s awkward. He’s pretty sure he understands anyway.

 

“You might need to fight it a little?” he asks gently. Bucky nods silently. “That’s okay. This is always going to be about what you need, Buck. I’ll take care of you.” Bucky nods jerkily and lets go if his wrist. Steve stands smoothly. “Give me about ten minutes to get things ready, then meet me out back, okay?”

 

:Yes...Sir.” Bucky’s response is a hoarse whisper. 

 

Stever hurries to the shed out back where he generally keeps his motorcycle in half of it and various other things in the other half. There’s a dividing half-wall between the bike and the rest of the shed. He’s rarely more thankful for his enhanced strength than when it comes time to transition the garage into a different kind of enclosure, pulling the bike out and storing it temporarily behind the building (he’s glad it doesn’t look like rain, but it wouldn’t matter if it was pouring, he’d be doing it anyway) and then rearranging a few other things in the small buildings while taking others out of hiding. He’s ready and not even breathing hard when there’s a light tap at the door ten minutes later. He glances around quickly to make sure everything’s in place before going to the door. Bucky can’t open it himself, not on nights like these. 

 

He goes to the door and opens it, stooping to scoop up a handful of leather, buckles and rubber on his way. Bucky stands mostly still, waiting for him. He’s wearing a pair of old sweatpants and nothing else. One bare foot grinds gently against the gravel of the drive; lifts once, sets back down. He looks jumpy, about to bolt. Steve whips one of the straps of the contraption in his hand around the back of Buck’s neck quickly, looping is loosely around and gripping both ends tightly in his fist. Relief flickers through dark eyes as his chance of escape is taken from him.

 

“Easy boy,” says Steve softly, running his free hand gently up to a muscled shoulder, leaning in close to press their foreheads together so they’re breathing the same air. “Easy. I’ve got you. Good boy. Come on then.” He clicks his tongue softly and exerts gently pressure on the strap looped around Buck’s neck. He’s followed obediently into the transformed shed. It’s not a garage anymore, it’s a stable. Bucky doesn’t have a voice in here, only instinct. He doesn’t have to do anything but what Steve tells him. Sometimes he fights a little, the way any horse will when it’s scared or angry or hurt, and oftentimes, Bucky is all of those things. Tonight Steve thinks it’s mostly hurt. He doesn’t see the flash of rebellion he sometimes does. There’s the hard shine of terror that comes from certain memories. It makes Steve’s heart ache to see it, fills him with fury at those responsible because the more of Bucky’s memories that return, the more new hells he has to face, but it also makes it easier. He knows exactly what to do, and trusts Bucky not to act up to require discipline until the fear is gone. Exactly like he would an abused and skittish horse, Steve keeps a hand on Bucky’s skin at all times, his touch firm but not bruising, so that it won’t startle or tickle. He keeps his voice low and soothing. Keeping the halter lead slung loosely around his boy’s neck, he untangles the rest of the bridle, specially made for a human pony rather than a real one. 

 

When he holds up the rubber bit gag the first time, Buck sucks sharply through his nose and turns his head away, teeth clenched. Steve holds it close, reaching into a pocket with his spare hand, he pulls out a sugar cube and holds it up.

 

“Easy now. You know this won’t hurt you. Come on. Open for me, baby. That’s good. You’re so good for me,” he murmurs. Buck turns his head and takes the sugar cube, the tip of his tongue warm and soft against Steve’s skin. He suppresses his shudder at the sensation. Tonight isn’t about sex. Steve would no more fuck his lover tonight than he would a real animal, because inside Bucky’s head, to make the voices go away, that’s what he needs to  _ be _ . And he must always  have total faith that Steve can take him there. And bring him back. 

 

Buck (that’s what Steve always calls him during these scenes, even if it’s also a nickname plenty of people use anyway, because it sounds so perfect for a horse’s name, if he calls him anything other than “boy” or “baby” in the way one might refer to a beloved pet) crunches the sugar cube slowly between his molars. It’s one of the many myriad steps of regressing him back into the instinctive, unthinking state he needs. Then when Steve lifts the bit once again, he takes it easily, chewing reflexively at the rubber as his master carefully aligns the straps that hold it in place, buckling it along his cheekbones and behind his head. Once the bridle is in place, his lover can no longer speak, and it’s nearly visible, the relaxation of tense muscles in his shoulders. Steve fastens the lead to a ring bolted into one of the support posts of the stall where his motorcycle usually resides, then clips on another leather lead and attaches it to another ring in the outside wall.  _ Bucky  _ is strong enough to snap both like tissue paper if he wanted to, but when you control a horse’s head, you have total control over the horse. Buck tosses his head back to hear the hardware rattle, and sighs, relaxing further. 

 

Steve picks up a rabbit fur out of the tack box on a nearby shelf. He only uses it at this stage, because doing so later would ruin it, but the sensation of being “groomed” with it reinforces the sensation of smooth, shining hairs all over Buck’s body, and places him even deeper into the headspace he needs right now. Steve uses long, firm strokes, not meant to tickle or tease. The next step are the boots, specially designed ones for pony play. They’re knee-length black leather, laced tightly in front to give support to the wearer’s legs. Their design forces the wearer up onto the balls of the feet, the underside of which are a pair of human-sized horse shoes firmly attached to the soles. It will put some strain on Buck’s calves, but they also give an almost perfect illusion of rear hocks, and the Winter Soldier is in far better physical shape than most people who indulge in this kind of play. The position won’t overtax his stamina in any way. The insides of the boots have reinforcing straps that criss-cross around the ankles to help prevent twisting or sprains while running in them, and a study, reinforced sole to help keep the feet in position without sagging. They’d decided against hooved gloves, because Bucky hadn’t liked the look of crawling around on his hands and feet. During the exercise part of the scene, he likes to be able to move fast, likes to  _ run _ , and he can’t do that on all fours. He’d said it made him feel like a dog, and they’d chosen pony play for the very reason that he never wants to feel like anyone’s dog ever again. He’d also feared that the regression therapy of pet play wouldn’t work for him if the animal chosen was a carnivorous one, having too many fears that it would only exacerbate the violent tendencies he wants to rid himself of. Horses rarely bite, and the bridle removes that possibility anyway, whereas dogs and cats are pretty frequently known to bite or scratch, sometimes even their owners. So Steve slides on snug black bondage gloves that reach Buck’s elbows, which encase his whole hands and have O rings at the end which attach to his harness, binding him to it so that he can’t lash out with them. Steve sort of likes the look of it all together; Bucky’s long black hair, the black leather on his limbs, added to the fact that he’s been tanning to remove the pallor of his years of being kept in the dark, so that now, once the gloves are in place too, his name fits even better. The light golden tan of skin against black stockings and mane. Just the same coloring of a buckskin horse. 

 

Kneeling, Steve tugs down the loose sweatpants. His lover is naked underneath, but he’s not aroused. He never is during scenes like this. Not even when Steve carefully lubricates and slowly inserts the long, black, real horsehair plug into his ass. It’s not big enough to be uncomfortable, just enough to stay in place. Small O rings pierced through the rubber of its flange attach to straps. Two fasten over his hips  to a soft leather pouch that covers and protects his genitals, since any guy who’s ever run naked can tell you that it’s not a particularly fun experience for the privates. The other will run up his spine to attach to the harness, both helping to keep it from sliding forward on his shoulders too much and to keep him forced upright, a bit like a martingale in reverse. It also complements his coloring, as most buckskin horses have a black dorsal stripe down their spines. 

 

The main harness is last, the heavy, padded leather oval that fits over his shoulders with straps that buckle around his chest and back, fastening to the tail plug. It takes time to put it all in place correctly, but each step puts his lover farther and farther into the mindless, thought-free headspace of an owned pet that he needs to be. At this point, even if Steve were to remove the bridle, Buck would be unable to speak. One hoof paws the concrete floor impatiently. Steve hushes him, but the fear is gone from his lover’s eyes. He stomps one more time, defiantly, before settling again to allow Steve to check over the harness to make sure every strap is in the right place and all the buckles are secure.

 

They’d decided against a human pony saddle unanimously. Steve’s way too big to ride Buck, even if the other man is plenty strong enough to carry him. They’d agreed it would be unbalancing, and that they’d probably both feel a little silly besides. Riders are supposed to be smaller than their horses. Steve’s several inches taller and close to 60 pounds heavier than Bucky, even though they’re fairly well-matched in a fight, if for no other reason than they don’t actually want to hurt each other. Bucky’s brainwashing may be broken, but he still has occasional flashbacks, and when he does, it’s literally all Steve can do to subdue him without having to hurt him, because the Winter Soldier, in those moments, doesn’t have the same concern. Fortunately, those times have been growing steadily fewer and farther between. Bucky still can’t sit with his back to a door, or enter a room without scanning and studying it both for enemies and for all points of entry and egress, but Clint and Natasha do the same thing, so Steve doesn’t try to train that behavior out of him. They  _ do  _ have enemies, after all. But Bucky can sleep in Steve’s bed now, without having to have a weapon in his hand at night. There are still several tucked around the room, but Steve sleeps with his shield beside the bed too. Hydra’s head may have been cut off, but some of its many limbs still exist out there.

 

It’s when he reaches over to the “stall’s” wall and snags the longe line, snapping it into place on Buck’s bridle before removing the crossties that the look in his lover’s eyes  _ really _ changes. Steve knows well enough what those couple of hoof-stomps had meant, which is why he’d chosen to attach the new line before releasing the others. The hard shine in Buck’s eyes isn’t fear anymore. There’s fire in them, rebellion. Steve knows that underneath it, buried deep, is Bucky’s rage at the people who had hurt him so much for so long, the countless mind-wipes with their blinding agony, the torture it had taken to break him, the brainwashing, the killer they’d trained him to be, who had stolen so much of his life. Although he’ll never say the words to Bucky, a small part of him is glad those Hydra bastards had frozen his best friend. He’d mourned him for so many years. Never stopped, if he’s honest, and now, because of that, they have this chance. To act on feelings they’d probably always had but hadn’t been able to admit in the repressive era into which they’d been born. Seeing Phil and Clint together helps a lot. Listening to Thor’s stories of Asgard and their views on sexuality had helped too. He grieves for his partner’s pain, and he’s angry too, but he’s so grateful to have him back, hardly changed a day since the day Steve had watched him fall into that ravine and been helpless to save him. He can’t be grateful to Hydra, not after everything they’d done both to Bucky and to so many other innocent people, but he’s abjectly grateful to have him alive, and to be able to hold him. And to be able to help him heal his wounds, even if it’s in ways a lot of people would think are weird, or even sick. He’d been afraid of his own urges for a long time, afraid of truly harming someone by accident, so he’d denied himself for years. A few wise friends had helped him see new possibilities, but having a lover he couldn’t break if he tried makes it even more thrilling. Bucky can take everything he can dish out and beg for more (and he has, often), even if Steve screws up and uses more of his strength than he means to. 

 

With a smirk, he picks up the longe whip that’s leaning against the stall wall before leading Buck out of his stall. So his boy needs to rebel? Well, Steve’s ready for that too. The sharp clops of the horse shoes ring out evenly, placidly enough on the floor as he leads his pet out into the wider, more open space of the rest of the shed, but his eyes glint from under his lashes, only partially hidden by the blinders on the sides of the bridle’s cheek straps. They’d been an addition after the first few times they’d played this way. Bucky says not being able to see as much of his surroundings helps keep his head in the right place. 

 

Steve stands in the center of the open space, gently flicking the line at Buck and clicks his tongue.

 

“C’mon boy, time for some exercise,” he says softly. Buck stomps hard, paws at the floor and shakes his head, rattling the steel bits of his bridle. “Get up now. You know if we don’t work you out, you’re just gonna get lazy.” When the other plants his feet and snorts defiantly, chewing hard on the bit, Steve makes a disapproving noise and flicks the whip out, catching him across the top of his ass, above his tail. Buck tosses his head back, stamps hard one more time, then reluctantly begins moving. Slowly. Plodding in a circle around his master.

 

“You can do better than that. Get up, boy,” says Steve sternly. Buck keeps his eyes facing forward and sticks to the same slow walk. The whip hisses out this time, its lash leaving a faint, pink mark across broad, powerful shoulders. They always take care to set this up so that, with the way Bucky’s arms are bound to the harness by the O rings at their ends and the fact that they always train so that his robotic arm faces the outside, when Steve uses the whip, if Buck’s movement causes it to wrap, the tip will strike the unfeeling metal, not the flesh under his arm or down the side of his ribs. If it wraps around his hip or his ass, the way the straps are situated and the leather pouch will protect other, more sensitive parts. Wrapping around a leg? Well, then that’s just a bonus. Whether as pet or lover, the other man responds very well.

 

Buck rears back and halts, letting out an irritated sound at the light sting. He leans, putting pressure on the line, trying to pull it out of Steve’s grip, but the super soldier is prepared, and doesn’t budge an inch.

 

“You’re getting your workout tonight whether you like it or not. Up to you how much punishment that takes,” says Steve in a calm voice. The whip snaps harder across his rebellious pet’s backside, red against some of the few parts of him that are still really pale anymore. A short squeal of anger is bitten off short, but he finally starts moving, walking a little faster. “That’s not good enough, and you know it,” Steve calls out. The whip snakes out again, leaving another red line across his hindquarters. Buck flinches, but refuses to pick up speed. “Okay, if that’s the way you want to play it. How long this takes it up to you, but I’m not stopping until you decide to be good for me. And you know my arm doesn’t get tired.: The last is offered in a low, deep growl that makes Buck shiver, but he stubbornly keeps walking, steel shoes ringing slowly against the concrete.

 

Steve shakes out his arm to loosen the muscles a little, takes a deep breath to steady himself because he never really knows going into these times exactly what his lover is going to need, and how much of it. He just knows he’d rather put himself into Hydra’s hands than let this man down, after everything he’s gone through, and because even after all of it, he’s still willing to trust Steve with this. He sets his jaw, focuses all his attention on his pet and the rebellion practically rolling off him in waves, and gets down to business. No more warnings, no more testing. The whip bites fast and hard, biting into exposed flesh from the top of Buck’s shoulders, down his back, snapping at his ass while avoiding becoming tangled in his tail (they’d learned the hard way that the riding crop is required for  _ that _ , and he’s got it on hand too if it’s needed, but it would require Steve giving in and moving from the center of the line’s reach, letting the pet control the scene, and that’s not what he thinks his lover needs tonight), then curling viciously around the backs of his legs. In a few minutes, Buck’s body gleams under the overhead light in a sheen of sweat, covered with a web of fine welts from his shoulders almost to his knees. Steve knows he doesn’t have to worry though. The longe whip is too light to cause real damage, even to someone without Buck’s inhuman resistance. Stings like a bitch, though.

 

Finally,  _ finally _ , when Steve starts to wonder if he might have to keep at this until his arm actually does get tired, Buck surrenders. He stops suddenly, bending forward over himself because he can’t put his hands on his knees, panting harshly around the bit gag between his teeth. Tears stream down his face. Steve yanks back on the whip as it’s slicing through the air towards its intended target, pulling it back just in time because he recognizes this for what it is. Slowly, Buck straightens his spine, head bowed, and starts to run. 

 

“Good boy,” says Steve softly. “So good for me. That’s perfect, you’re so beautiful. Come on baby, just a little bit okay?”

 

Even if his lover would now run himself into exhaustion for his master if Steve asked it of him, he won’t. He sends his pet on just a few turns around the room, shoes clattering loudly on the concrete (they’d had them specially made with a textured surface and rubber caps over the tack heads so there’d be no danger of him slipping on the smooth surface since this is the only place they feel really safe doing this kind of scene). Then he brings him down to a trot, still praising him every step of the way. Once he finally brings Buck to a stop after a couple of go-rounds to make sure he’s cooled down, Steve tugs gently on the line and brings his pet in to the center. He tosses the whip over the rail of the stall and reaches up with both hands, running them through Buck’s damp hair as he reaches his master’s side and bows his head to lean it against Steve’s chest. He’s breathing hard, tears wetting Steve’s shirt as he cries quietly. Peacefully. Steve pets him gently, whispering words of pride and comfort into his ear. Bits of metal and the edges of the blinders dig uncomfortably into his chest, but the Captain doesn’t care. 

 

When Buck has quieted completely and leans against him in exhausted contentment, mouthing softly at the bit in his teeth, Steve knows he’s ready to begin the process of coming back. He leads his lover back to his stall, foregoing the crossties completely because they’re no longer needed, he slowly removes the tack, unbuckling each strap patiently and very slowly, keeping at least one hand touching Buck at all times. Each piece comes off in the reverse order of the way it went on, so that the tail plug, which he works out gently so it won’t cause any pain, and then only the bridle is left. Before it comes off, he reaches into the tack box for a soft cloth and dips it into the bucket of cool water that hangs from a clip on the stall’s inner wall. Ostensibly it looks like a horse’s drinking bucket, but that’s not what it’s really for. The little bit of antiseptic in it probably wouldn’t taste very good, even if the Winter Soldier’s chemical alterations render him immune to most poisons. He wipes his pet down with long, slow strokes, cleaning away the sweat and disinfecting (pointlessly, but it’s a part of the ritual) the small scrapes on his body from the knot at the end of the whip’s cracker. After his skin is cool and dried with another soft cloth, Steve carefully removes the bridle, easing the bit gag out last. Buck works his jaw a few times to ease the soreness in it. Then, when every trace of tack and costuming is removed, Buck turns and leans into Steve, wrapping his arms around him. Steve hugs him back, pressing chaste kisses into the top of his head.

 

“Thank you,” he whispers. Still not quite able to speak, Buck looks up at him quizzically, frowning as if to say,  _ Shouldn’t that be my line? _ “For trusting me with this. Love you so much. Ready to come home now?”

 

Slowly, Bucky nods against his chest. Steve helps him back into his sweatpants and then they turn and walk out of the stable with Steve’s arm supporting the man he loves. He’ll worry about moving his bike back into its place and setting the place back to rights later. It isn’t until they’ve reached the house and Steve’s deposited Bucky on the sofa, wrapped in a soft blanket, and fetched him a bottle of water and a banana from the fridge that his lover finds his voice.

 

“Thank you too,” he whispers, his voice hoarse from disuse. 

 

“Always,” says Steve, sitting down beside him and pulling him gently against his chest, wrapping one arm around him while helping him peel the banana with the other. “Tell me what you need now, love. Hungry?”

 

“Starving,” croaks Bucky.

 

“How about I make us some snacks and we can sit here and watch a movie until you get tired? You pick.”

 

“‘Kay,” murmurs Bucky dreamily. When Steve returns to the living room from the kitchen, a platter filled with fruit, cheese, leftover cold chicken from dinner, and a few chocolate chip cookies, he chuckles softly to see the start screen of the video on the bigscreen TV.

 

_ Spirit: Stallion of the Cimarron. _

 

Bucky’s ears turn a little pink as Steve slides in next to him, pulling up a tv tray to hold their rather laden plate of food. Bucky crams a cookie into his mouth and mutters around it.

 

“I like this movie. He just needed someone to understand, to be able to tame him.So he could belong….and be free. So did I. I...I love you too.”

 

They fall asleep about halfway through the movie, but that’s okay. They already know how it ends.

**Author's Note:**

> Even though it should go without saying, I'm gonna do it anyway. Real human being should never, ever treat an ACTUAL horse the way Steve treats his "pet" horse in this scene. The punishment aspect of the scene is what Bucky needs to let go of his stress and negativity. Sometimes their scenes contain no punishment at all, this scene just happens to be one of the times when he feels he does need it.
> 
> Also, I'm well aware, having been a horse person (not the human pony kind) most of my life that there is some debate over the correct spelling of the long lead rope one uses for warming up, training and exercising a horse in a circle around you. In Great Britain and Australia and New Zealand it's called a lunge line. However, in America, where I'm from, it's correctly spelled longe, though they're pronounced the same. In some counties which use "lunge" it's also called a lunge lead or lunge rope as opposed to line, but as I'm American, I'm going with the original spelling and usage from my own country. I don't mean to offend anyone by it, I promise!
> 
> Also, although it is not mentioned in the scene, and Bucky is unable to speak, they do still have a safeword in place. It's a pattern of hoof-stomps he can do at any time, and Steve will always stop immediately. There are always ways to implement safewords even if the sub is going to be bound and unable to speak. You can tap out, snap, hold something in your hand that you can drop which will make noise, or whatever works for you, but NEVER, EVER play without one. Removing a sub's ability to communicate verbally makes a safeword (even though it won't be a word) even more important.


End file.
